
Title 



Imprint. 



Ift— *7372-8 a^o 



'T 



*B«>MHHHMIMHMIB«atM«N 



Dreams 




Idle Hour 



By 

Heiuy D&yis Middlelon 



DREAMS 



-OF AN 



IDLE HOUR 



-*g«i>^^— 



BY 

HENRY DAVIS MIDDLETON 

CHICAGO 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

FEB 13 1909 

Copynijiii i^f'try _ 



4 5^ 



^ 
^ 



COPYRIGHT 1908 
By HENRY DAVIS MIDDLETON 



Advocate Publishing Co. 

Distributors 
287 E. Thirty-Firat St. 

CHICAGO 



To my Sister Edythe 

this Volume is 

Affectionately Dedicated 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

^/•" '%/*■ •>*■ 

.^•K ^m^^ ^PS 

PART I 

BITS OF VERSE 

The Door 7 

The Flowery Meadows of May 8 

I know a Paradise Apart 8 

Ballade of a Belle 9 

Self -Reliance 10 

Ballad of an Evening Carol 11 

Knowledge 12 

Cupid's Defiance 12 

Billy's Weddin' 13 

A Kingdom of Delight . . 15 

The Shepherd's Find , .... 15 

Sonnet of a Summer's Eve 16 

The Song of the Shadows 16 

Mirandy at Church 17 

You Fain Would Know 19 

The Noblest Conquerors 19 

A Maiden's Smile 20 

Ballad of a Summer Bower 20 

The Universal Wealth 21 

W. E. Burghardt Du Bois 22 

The Press 22 

Ise Jes Bongry Fo' a Meal ... 23 

Rondeau- To the Absent One 26 

Progressive Sambo Brown 27 

Frederick Douglass 29 

Ballade— Tantalizin' Brown 30 

Sonnet— The Wayfarer 31 

Dat De-Paht Mental Sto' 31 

Ballade of the Simple Life 35 



Ballade of the City Boarder 36 

Ballade of Hats and Heads 37 

Ballade of Human Bliss ■ 38 

A Ballade of Dreamland 39 

Mai'ag-e An' Divo'ce 40 

When Mable Sings 43 

Ten Queer Tales of a Tale-Teller 44 

Ballade of Tainted Coin 46 

Ballade of Woman's Rights , 47 

Sonnet— Tidings of Immortality 48 

Rondeau 48 

Retrospection 49 

-^ ^^ ^y*-. 

PART II 

BITS OF FICTION 

The Flight of the Fearless 52 

The Sacrifice of Richard Blair 54 

"Daddy" Green's Blasphemy 58 

The Ebonville Woman's Club 63 



H) 



THE DOOR. 
^ ^ ^i* 

ESPAIR and darkness veil the rug-g-ed way 

That winds o'er crag- and barren plain and moor, 

Where plods the fearless freedman, day by day, 
Up to the open door. 

Through the wide portals beacons break the gloom 
Now shadows flee, the night is almost o'er; 

And in the gloaming dusky freedmen loom 
With iaith, simple and pure. 

O, cruel fate that beckons and betrays, 

That shatters hope and fair forebodings dim. 

All, all seems lost, labor of nights and days, 
The door is barred to him. 

Exile or alien from far distant shores, 

Find a warm welcome wait their wiles or wares. 

While noble natives languish at the doors. 
Denied their honest shares. 

Relent, arrogant censors, heed his call. 

Nor mock his pains nor mimic his sad plight. 

Your fate is tempted by his rise or fall 
Rather than by your might. 

Then let the portals open full and free. 

The lustrous light its obscure threshold bare. 

Merit alone should be the master key. 
Let all the worthy share. 

7 



THE FLOWERY MEADOWS OF MAY. 

>i» >? ii» 

i[N spring time when robins call over the lea, 

Forsaking- their pictures and toys, 
Gay frolicksome children, from winter bonds free, 

Repair to the meadowy joys; 
Then life is relieved of its burden and pain 

As I list to their prattle and play. 
And I sue for the sparkle of childhood again 

In the flowery meadows of May, 

In spring time when hill side and hedge are abloom 

And fond lovers aimlessly stroll 
Through pastures that breathe the sweet violet's 
perfume, 

O'er clover-leafed green sward and knoll; 
Then I dream of the happiest days that I know 

When life is young and gay, 
And I long for the maiden with heart all aglow 

In the flowery meadows of May. 

The beautiful city now loses its charm; 

Its gardens and palaces fair 
I fain would exchange for a cottage and farm 

And a breath of the pure country air. 
I weary of turmoil and bustle and strife; 

'Tis now I would hie me away 
And rest from the arduous duties of life, 

In the flowery meadows of May. 

I KNOW A PARADISE APART. 
li* ii» ^ 
ip^RINCES of fortune, fads and chance, 
" Beau Brummels of the present day; 

Sir Knights who don the sword and lance 
And bravely join the martial fray, 
Ye swear by all your gods, they say, 



Your castles have no counterpart. 

Hark ye to this refrain, I pray — 
I know a paradise apart. 

Ye cads who prate with nonchalance 
And ribald raptures oft displa}^ 

Dashing devotees of the dance 

In which you madly whirl and sway, 
Your pleasures are of yesterday, 

Mere relics of a waning art; 

For pleasures that defy dismay — 

I know a paradise apart. 

Daughters whom beauty doth enhance, 
Nimrods seeking their nimble prey, 

Heroines of some sad romance. 

The poor, the rich in grand array, 
Each wanders in his wonted way. 

In blind pursuit of pleasure's mart 
To Eden's doomed unto decay — 

I know a paradise apart. 

l' envoi. 
Prince, where the brooklet winds its way. 

Where nature's balm revives the heart. 
In Woodland green, in woodland grey — 

I know a paradise apart. 

BALLADE OF A BELLE. 
>? i<» ^ 

*n AINT no tantalizin' brown, 

Ise jest es black es I kin be, 
But yet de boys all hangs aroun' 

Somehow dey likes tew visit me. 

Sometimes es high es two an' three. 
Besides ma bestes feller Bill 

Calls roun' at once bekase, yo' see, 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 



X 



I caintplay notes lak Mandy Brown, 

Ef I should tech an orgin key 
I wouldn't know what note hit soun' 

I doan keer 'bout no harmony; 

Yet all de boys 'bout heah agree 
Dat Ise de only gal kin fill 

De demands ob sassiety; 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

Nig-ht time I kin alius be foun' 

A-fixin' fo' ma company; 
All dressed up in ma gingham gown 

I settles down tew pour de tea; 

Ob nice hot chicken frigazee 
Dey all sets down an' eats tew kill, 

An' den we has a jubilee; 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

L ' ENVOI, 

Gals, you might hab mo' pedigree 

Dan I has ebber seed, but still 
Sence you jes kin not cook lak me 

I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

SELF-RELIANCE. 
^ i<» w 

IKE ornate trailing vines of vernal spring. 
Whose tendrils grasp the infirm tree and cling,- 
As 'round its frail support it winds its way 
Till firmly tethered to its weakened stay, — 
So pliant man is oftimes found entwined 
Around the trite ideals the world designed — 
Weak tenets that appear to casual eyes 
To be the strongest bulwark of the wise. 
How easy 'tis for man to stoop or bend; 
To grasp the world's opinion and ascend, 
Or, easier still, it is in solitude 
10 



This quaint unstable propping- to elude 
And wind about a trellis weaker still — 
The frail creation of a biased will. 
But he alone achieves the noblest ends 
Who from these false supports warily trends, 
And with inborn discretion trails away 
Prom proffered stays, susceptive to decay. 
Nor deigns to rest incumbent on the base 
That underlies the world's prescribed place. 

BALLAD OF AN EVENING CAROL. 
^ *? >^ 

'fJ^OMEWARD, a weary toiler, I depart 

From the day's duties happy to refrain 

And have a respite from the busy mart. 

With its pert problems that benumb the brain, 
Until the morrow beckons me again. 

Methinks sometimes that 'tis an angel bright, 

Whose cadence falls from far-off heaven's height— 
I know not who or where the singer be, 

But in a voice full soft and sweet and light 
From out the calm a carol comes to me. 

Since books of love, of logic and of art 

Doth serve to soothe, instruct and entertain, 

To these I turn with all my mind and heart 
Till fact and fiction deft doth me enchain 
Among their meshes so discreetly lain; 

But while for labor these would fain requite. 

With fearless tread there comes a proselyte. 
And like a rippling wavelet of the sea. 

That thrills the heart and stirs the soul's delight, 
From out the calm a carol comes to me. 

Bantering breezes curtained portals part, 

Bearing the breath of meadow and of plain, 
As to allure where Cupid with his dart 

11 



Awaits the advent of some guileless swain 

On grassy plot with maid demure and vain; 
But while the breezes linger to invite, 
The blithesome echoes stir the lonely night, 

And now I know I'm happy and I'm free 
For, like the notes of song-birds when in flight, 

From out the calm a carol comes to me. 

l' envoi. 
Prince, let the weary hie to country site. 
Leave me to bear the brunt of summer's blight; 

Content am I, away from mount and sea. 
Since every eve, soft as the moon beam's light, 

From out the calm a carol comes to me. 



KNOWLEDGE. 

>j9 t2« ij9 

' TTIS like some massive mount that lifts with pride 
Its jagged snow-capped dome above the plain. 
Where lowly hills aspire to obtain 

To its far heights where fleet-winged falcon hide. 

Puerile men ascend its rugged side, 

Scale its steep cliffs with all their might and main 
To cull in triumph from the heights they gain 

A trivial trophy the wan peaks provide. 

The prudent pause a moment at its base, 
Survey in wonder its great altitude, 
Adroitly delve beneath the soil and sedge 

Where richest veins of lore and truth they trace; 
Abiding wealth its fluent depths seclude 
Seek and secure, 'tis each one's privilege. 

CUPID'S DEFIANCE. 
*«» ^ »<» 

•TrHE fleeting sun southward long since has sped. 
And from the West the sunset's ruddy glow 
Gleams with resplendence on the spotless snow 
That hill and housetop, mantle like, o'erspread. 

12 



The snow-crowned serrate peaks, once drear and 
dead, 
Luminous lustre lend the glades below 
Where the green holly and the mistletoe 
Supplant the summer's dormant flower-bed. 
Commingled with the sound of sleighing bells, 
That mock the monotone of wintry hours. 
Laughter and lay of lovers loudly ring, 
Reverberating through the distant dells. 

Ah! who would pine for spring with gladsome 
flowers 
Since Cupid dare defy the icy king! 



1[ 



BILLY'S WEDDIN'. 
^ ^ 1^ 

WAS 'vited tew a weddin' 
At our chu'ch de udder night, 
Yo' jes orter bin en seen it 
Po' hit sho' was outer sight. 
An' ob all de puddy weddins 
Dat you ebber heerd dem tell, 
Dat dar weddin' was de finest, 
Lawd! I tell yo' hit was swell. 

Dem folks had fetched a cyarpet 
What dey laid frum door to street 
So de cummin bridal pahty 
Could protec' dere tender feet 
An' dat chu'ch was des a bloomin' 
Lak a gharden en de spring 
When de sun es shinin' brightly 
An' de birds des 'gin ter sing. 

An' de people at dat weddin' — 
Dey was dressed lak queens an' kings 
In der silk an' satin dresses 
An' der sparklin' di'mon rings, 
13 



An' der shinin' patent leathers 
An' tall hats so sleek and span, — 
I jes tell yo' dat dar weddin' 
Was de finest in de Ian'. 

Dem 'lectic lights a-shinin' 
Lit dat chu'ch es brig-ht es day, 
An' de flo'rs on de railin' 
Look des lak deys fix ter stay; 
An' de pews — dey was jes crowded; 
All de people ob dis town 
Seems tew me hed bin envited 
An' sum mo' fo' miles aroun'. 

"When at las' dat pahty drived up 
Wid de hosses prancin' gay 
Den dey staht dat orgin goin' 
An' sech music dey did play! 
Fust 'twas rollin' jes lak thunder, 
Den hit chuned up lak er ban'; 
Say, — dat was de bes'tes music 
Ebber happened in dis Ian'. 

Dar de pahsun stood a-waitin' 
While de pahty marched ahead; 
When dey had reacht de railin' 
Dis es what he slowly said: 
"Billy, will yo' hab dis 'oman 
Fo' tew be yo' wedded wife? 
Will yo' feed an' keep an' clothe her- 
Only her all tru dis life?" 

"Yes, suh! Yes, suh!" Billy answered 
Den he axed Cinda de same 
Whuther she would hab ole Billy, 
Den she spoke up kinder shame, 

"Yes I'll hab an lub an suv him — 
Only him all tru dis life." 
An' de pahsun answered, "Amen". 
Cinda den was Billy's wife. 
U 



A KINGDOM OF DELIGHT. 
^ *? ^ 

(A DITTY.) 

CflHE is my sovereig-n queen and I her king-, 

Her soul's my domain and my heart's her throne; 
Our edicts are the love songs oft we sing, 

Within our little kingdom all alone: 
She is my sovereign queen and I her king. 

The scepter rests within her sparkling eyes, 
With which she oft absolves each threatening 
blight, 

Love's precepts wield the wooing powers I prize. 
Was ever there such kingdom of delight? 

She is my sovereign queen and I her king! 

THE SHEPHERD'S FIND. 
i<» ^ ^ 

CJi LOWLY the darkening shades of night descend, 
The azure sky with black is overcast, 
And silenced is the solemn clear cut blast 

Of herdsmen's trump that rill and ravine rend. 

Upon the plains prone lay they who defend 
Their corraled charge; they peer into the vast 
Black density of space: they rise aghast, 

A brilliant star odd omen doth portend. 
'Twas this bright star that lit the shepherd's way. 

And led unto the lowly manger near. 
Where lay unheraled and and uncrowned a king. 

Follow the star, ye nations and obey 

The precepts of the angel's anthem clear, 
"Peace, peace on earth, good will to men," they sing. 

15 



SONNET OF A SUMMER'S EVE. 
^ »? >? 

CJilLVERY moonbeams rest upon the sea, 

And where the storm-cloud streaked with dismal 

gloom 
The azure skies of the bright summer's noon, 

The star-set heavens twinkle gloriously. 

Each blade of grass and every twig and tree, 
Seemingly join in the harmonious tune, 
Brooklet and zephyr waft in joyous June, 

To distant hills lounging beyond the lea. 

'Tis such a night all nature lends its charm, 
Cupid is wont to loiter 'mong the dells. 
Where, 'neath the overhanging oaken boughs, 

Whose canopy of half-extending arms 
Defy the vigil of love's sentinels, 

Into light hearts his arrow lightly plows. 

THE SONG OF THE SHADOWS. 

^ ii» 1^9 

CJlOFTLY the shadows of evening are falling. 

Mountain and moorland and meadow now fade; 
What mystic music there seems to be calling, 
Over the grass-covered hillock and glade. 

Fine feathered songsters have ceased with their 
singing. 

Somber, in silence that soothes and enthralls. 
They hear the song that the shadows are bringing, 

"Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls." 

Briskly the brooklet flows back to the ocean, 
As though obeying the echo that calls; 

Frolicking children attend with devotion, 
"Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls," 
16 



Prom yon gray chamber a spirit has vanished, 
Flown to a clime where the nig^ht ne'er appalls; 

The song- of the shadows all sorrow has banished, 
"Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls," 

MIRANDY AT CHURCH. 
*? >^ >? 

•fl WENT las' Sunday mawnin — 
Lawd, I jes caint stay awaj?^ — 
Fust time Ise bin tew preachin 
Sence some time way back in May, 
Case I'd swo' I'd nebbah go dar 
Sence dat highfilutin crowd 
Jes sot an' grin an' giggle 
Ef I'd shout an' holler loud. 

Well, I got dar kinder early 
Lak I'd alius done, yo' know, 
Thinkin' dat I'd fine hit crowded 
Frum de pulpet tew de doah — 
Lawd, yo'se mightily mistakin' 
Ef yo' thinks Ise talkin' wrong- 
When I say dere warnt 'nuff members 
Fo' tew raise de openin' song. 

Den dere warnt no amen connah 

Lak dey haid long time ago 

When Brer Jonnson was de pahsun 

An' ole Rastus kep de doah, 

Whar we'd set an' watch 'im preechin 

While he tole us 'bout de Ian' 

Whar de good lawd's gone tew fix us 

Wid his pure an' holy han. 

Den dey had a great big" orgin 
Sittin' high up in de back 
What dey played befo' de preechin' — 
Sum ole chune I nebbah lak; 
17 



I doan blieve in org-in music 
Dat dey uses dese yah days 
Lak as if de people's voices 
Warnt in chune dem songs tew raise. 

Well, dat pahsun rized up slowly 
An' lined out de openin' song, 
Hit was led wid orgin music 
An' de people jined along, 
But hit nebbah 'peared tew touch dem 
Lak de songs we use tew raise, 
Wen Brer Johnson was de pahsun 
In dem good ole happy days. 

Den at las' dey got tew preachin' 
An' de pahsun tuk de stan'; 
But he nebbah tech de Bible — 
Tuk a papah in his han'. 
Den away he went a readin' 
Wid a voice fus high den low 
Now a pintin hind de pulpet 
Den a pintin t'wards de doah. 

He aint nebbah made no menshun 
'Bout de Scriptur' dat I heerd, 
Dough I lis'en still en silence 
At de fall av ebry wurd; 
But he talk 'bout men an' nashuns, 
'Bout de mountains an' de rills 
'Bout de rainbows an' de ocean 
An' de grander ob de hills. 

Well, I sot right still an' wondered 
Tell de pahsun said "Les' pray;" 
But dey nebbah kneel down 'umbly 
Lak we done in our day, 
Some jes bowed dey haids en silence, 
Some was lookin' 'roun er about, 
18 



1? 



While some udders rized up peartlj'' 
An' went slowly walkin' out. 

Well I'm gittin' ole an' feeble 
An' I aint got long- tew stay 
'Mong"st dis younger ginnerashun 
Dats a takin' on dis way, 
Mougtity soon I'll jine dem udders 
Dats dun lef me long ago 
When Brer Johnsun done de preechin 
An' ole Rastus kep' de doah. 

YOU FAIN WOULD KNOW. 
^ >? ^e* 

OU fain would know, fair one, whose love I sue? 

(Paper I have of every shade and hue 
And pens galore with which to make my plea.) 
Would I could write my secret, full and free 

The unsuspecting love I have for you. 

Chide not now, dearest, since I fail to woo, 
With these utensils; Speech I have in lieu. 
Yet my lips fail to phrase that love, so true, 
You fain would know. 

Some silent night of splendor when we two. 
Stray through the starlit grove where fond adieu. 
So oft we make; Then look, love, see 
Deep in my heart and soul the love for thee 
Buried and hidden; you'll find there the clew. 
You fain would know. 

THE NOBLEST CONQUERORS. 
^ ^ ^ 

^TILL feebler the harsh clash of arms resound, 
Hushed is the far-fetched din of cannonade; 
Unvanquished warriors, wary, unafraid 
In noble triumph leave the battle ground. 
Undimmed their glory, unalloyed the sound 

19 



Of copious praise both bard and sag-e essayed; 
Throughi endless years their triumplis are conveyed, 
To every clime where mortal man is found. 
Nobler are those, adept in martial strife, 
Who battle not 'gainst foe on land or sea 

Nor seek reward of temporal power or pelf, 
But ever anon on the field of life 
Do single handed gain the victory; 

Noblest are they who bravely conquer self. 

A MAIDEN'S SMILE. 
ii» i«» ^ 

•n\AKING my way along the crowded street, 
I met a maiden, merry, chaste and fair. 
Soft as the breeze that rufded her smooth hair. 

With cheeks all rosy, lips tiny and sweet, 

Lithe as a fairy, dainty and discreet. 
Bright little eyes — a veritable lair, 
Where who once looks must ever linger there. 

I wist not whence nor whither her retreat 

For she appeared and vanished as a dream, 
But this I know, unmindful of the throng, 
On me she smiled, and as is dawn to day 

So to my heart the moment was supreme; 
For my soul's sadness, melting into song, 

Soared lil^e the sun far o'er the steep's survey. 

BALLAD OF A SUMMER BOWER. 
^ 1? ^ 

/^UITE often in the summer bright, 
^^ When maidens fair are wont to wed 
And all of winter's chilly blight 

Sleeps 'neath the bower of roses red, 
Just she and I the by-paths thread. 
Where none so well as Cupid knows. 
20 



She rests upon a grassy bed — 
Her breast the place of my repose. 

She is so fairy like, so slight. 

Her eyes such charming beauty shed 
That when she smiles such cheerful light 

And luster the fair scene o'erspread 

It seems all save her charms have sped — 
Sweeter by far than the sweet rose 

About this bridal bower spread — 
Her breast the place of my repose. 

Then as the summer takes its flight, 
And in its wake there comes instead 

Autumnal days of calm delight, 
Still by the mystic Cupid led 
We oft, betimes, the old paths thread, 

Ere leafless bower would fain disclose 
Our resting place when summer's fled — 

Her breast the place of my repose. 

L ' ENVOI. 

TTHERE is no language live or dead 

Can half express how my heart glows. 
When she but lets me rest my head — 
Her breast the place of my repose. 

THE UNIVERSAL WEALTH. 
^ »^ >^ 

?a N heritage awaits the pristine breath 

That marks the advent of each cherub's birth; 
A vast inheritance of regal worth; 
It is a talent given until death. 
The Divine Patron freely ventureth, 

With all His joint-heirs of the somber earth 
A goodly share; no scarcity, nor dearth; 
"To every man his portion," thus he saith. 

21 



This is the wealth a Croesus fain would choose 
In exchang-e for his perishable gold, 
And the affluence penurious spendthrifts waste; 

A bounty this the prudent oft abuse. 

Use thou with care this blessing- manifold, 
The ivealth of time, nor its disbursement haste. 



^ 



W. E. BURGHARDT DU BOIS. 
^ 1^ li* 

IS his, the task, to train the pliant youth. 
And plead for those who suffer for no sin. 
To turn without the whiter soul within 

That lay beneath a surface roug^h, uncouth. 

Prophet and sage, aye, and far more forsooth, 
A Saviour come to calm the subtle din; 
A David he who dares the javelin 

With pebbles gathered by the brook of truth. 

May he live long to light the darkened veil. 

To lift and lead a people on their way. 
And ne'er be beckoned o'er the sable sea, 

Till clash and conflict will no more prevail, 

And all the world heedful of him will say. 
Justice shall be to all humanity. 

THE PRESS. 
1? ^ ^ 

I 

HAT weal, what woe and bitter strife 
Are creatures of thy dual jjower, 

Tis thine to bring dead things to life, 
Or crush them within one brief hour. 

II 
Not all the babblings of the bard 
Nor wisest sayings of the sage 
Can penetrate deep as one shard 

Hurled from the turrets of thy page. 
22 



Ill 

Thou wert the friend of scraggy slave, 
The arbiter of wrongs that were; 

Thou can'st be bright and good and brave 
Or thou Truth's false interpreter. 

IV 
Do justice to both liege and lord, 

And all the world from East to West 
With glad acclaim, with one accord. 

Shall note the truth so long suppressed. 

ISE JES HONGRY FO' A MEAL. 

»^ )i? >jS 

♦II^OW'S yo' feelin', suh, dis mawnin? 
'Scuse me, but I'd lak tew know 
Bein' as I is a stranger, 
Which a'way I orter go 
Fo' to fine ma liT nephew, 
Wucks fo' Mister Willum Brown, 
An' dey tells me dat his boss is 
Quite a lawyah in dis town. 

What, suh! says dat yo' aint 'quainted 
Wid ma liT nephew, Joe? 
Ev'y body orter know him. 
He's 'bout twenty year er mo — 
Looks des lak his mammy, Cinda, 
An' a rattlin' boy he is, 
Heap mo peart dan bofe de chilluns 
Ob mo udder sistah, Lizz. 

Well den, does yo' know de man, suh, 
What dey says he wucks fo' heah? 
Ef yo'll kindly pint dat 'rection 
Maybe I kin fin' him deah. 
Say yo' hab ten thousand lawyahs 
23 



Wid de same name es his boss? 
Lawdy! dis es sho'ly tryin', 
Hits ernougli tew make one cross. 

You say how I likes yo' city? 
Likes hit fine, but liits so big- 
An' built up so close tergether, 
Taint nuff room tew dance a jig". 
Den dese folks es alius runnin' 
Lak de};, got tew ketch a train — 
Walks right on yo' co'ns and bunions 
Hurrin' lak a harricane. 

Yestiddy I went a-ridin' 
On a train up in de air, 
Runs erpon a great big trussel, 
Climbed up tew it by de stair. 
When dat 'lectic train got stahted 
I helt to de seat right tight 
Ca'se ef hit should staht a-fallin' 
Dar's no tellin' whar 'twould light. 

Den I visited a buildin', 

Rid up fohty sto'ies high, 

Elevatah rizzed lak lightnin' 

Seems lak almos' tew de sky; 

Den hit stopped, and stahted downward, 

Wid a speed dat tuck ma bref, 

I had sich a funny feelin' 

I was nearly skeered to death. 

Say, I wondah kin yo' tell me 
Whar I'd fine a place tew eat, 
Case I've walked dis city ober 
Tell I'm tired in de feet, 
But I jes caint fine no eatin' 
Dat is suited tew ma tase 
An' de money hits done cos' me. 
Is jes so much gone tew was'e. 
24 



At de house dar whar I'se stoppin' 
I'se mos' nearly starved tew death, 
Seems lak dat dey sets de table 
Wid whateveh 'tis dat's lef 
Prum de udder meals a'victuals 
Sarved a day er so befo' 
An' I nevah leaves dat table 
'Cept I feels lak eatin' mo'. 

Dese folks feeds me oats fo' breakfas', 
Bread, what's toasted, an' some tea, 
Wid a aig- sof boil, an' taters — 
Taint ernough tew fill a flea. 
Den fo' dinnah dey has onions. 
Soup an' lil' bits o' fishes, 
Wid some roast an' vegetables — 
Jest a lil' in big dishes. 

I likes bacon bes' fo' breakfas' 
But de fried po'k chops'll do, 
Wid sum soda rizen biskit. 
An' black coffee freshly drew; 
Den de aigs, yo' kin turn ober, 
An' de cakes, jes hab em brown, 
Wid annuder cup o' coffee 
Fo' tew sorter wash'em down. 

Den, fo' dinnah I likes chicken. 
Chicken raise mos' enny way — 
Chicken fotched up in de barn yard. 
Chicken nestin' in de hay. 
Chicken what roost in de tree top. 
Or domesticated fowl, 
(Dat's de kind what runs frum preachers, 
Wid de wisdom of a owl). 

Chicken hatched in dem 'cubators. 
Chicken brought up in de town. 
Chicken hatched out in de country— 
25 



So yo' fries em good an' brown 

Or deys stewed wid nice hot dumplin's, 

Baked er briled er frigazee— 

Enny way yo' cooks dat chicken, 

Hit am good ernough fo' me. 

Well, Ise sorry dat I kep' yo' 

Talkin' heah so long to-day 

I mus' go sarch fo' ma nephew, 

But, suh, I jest want tew say 

Dat de fun dis city 'fords me 

Sho'ly makes me happy feel; 

Dar's but one thing dat is lackin'— 

Ise jes' hongry fo' a meal. 

Yas, I likes yo' parks an' places 
By de ribber an' de sea, 
Bote de chu'ches an' theatres, 
An' big buildin's pleases me. 
Sense Ise bin aroun' yo' city, 
Ise done seed a whole great deal; 
Dar's but one thing now dat's lackin'— 
Ise jes hongry fo' a meal. 

RONDEAU— TO THE ABSENT ONE 
^ ^i* ii» 

I 

W/ien Days Are Drear. 
I^HEN days are drear, dear heart, when days are drear, 
What joys were mine if thou wert only near. 
To ward the gloomy shadows from this place 
As dusky mist, swiftly diffused through space 
By the fair morn's first far-fetched radiant flare. 
I longingly observe thy vacant chair; 
Cheerless and cold beside the window there. 
Alone methinks of that last long embrace,' 
When days are drear! 
26 



Glittering g-old, piled hig-h in towering tier, 

Luxuriant lands of half-a-hemisphere, 
Would ill suface in lieu of thy rich grace: 
Lend the sweet smile of thy soul-stirring face 

If thou would'st grant me surcease from despair, 
When days are drear! 

II 

When Days Are Fair. 
TirnjHEN days are fair, my love, when days are fair, 
^^Breathing the balmy, perfume-laden air, 

Through flower-flanked fields I find the winding way 
Y/here 'twas our wont, oftimes, to slowly stray, 
Beside the loitering brooklet laughing there. 

To daffodil and lily I fall heir; 

Blithe birdies, singing, circle pair by pair; 

While I, alone, lament our parting day. 
When days are fair. 
The green, green, moss and weeping willow there 
Depict the sadness of my soul's despair. 

In shadows on the granite hills of grey; 

Come, join me, thou most lovely Queen of May, 
If thou would'st turn my cheeerlessness to cheer, 
When days are fair. 

PROGRESSIVE SAMBO BROWN. 
v» ^ >^ 

*n WANTS tew tell yo' Deacon, 'bout de7progress ob 
ma son 
Yes, co'se I knows yo' members Sambo Brown, 
Sho' 'deed he was de smartes' chap dat eber sot erpon 

A chair sence dis hy'ar village was a town. 
He larnt so fas' de teacher had to class him by his 

self, 
He tuck fus prize mos' ebry time he tried, 

27 



An' evy body lacked him so, a laffin' lil' elf 
Dat when he lef dey jes broke down an' cried. 

Well, w'en he was done passin' thro' de gradins ob 
dis school 

We sold de yearlin' heifer fo' a song- 
An' addin' to de proceeds frum de sellin' ob a mule. 

We samit him off tew college whar he b'long-. 
But de 'fessors dar dey feared him, case dey couldn't 
keep his pace; 

And de president dey say he of'en 'lowed 
"Dat boy'll obershadah all de great ones in dis race 

Jes es sho es dar's a linin' tew de cloud." 

He plays de fo'most quarter on de college foot-ball 
team 
An' on de di'mon he hoi's down fust base. 
But in acquactic spo'ten he aint so much it seem 

"Case de watah, deacon, isn't tew his taste. 
He vault de pole, dey tells me, higher den dey ebber 
knowed 
An' run a mile 'd out catchin' ob his bref. 
But he captured all de honahs w'en he cotched it up 
and throwed 
De shot, a full long furlon' wid his lef. 

In speakin' an' debatin', huh, he's pow'ful an' gran' 

Dey caint no one excel him — he's de best; 
An' he blows de slidin' trombone ob de cross roads 
college ban' 
De same lak as a whirl win' from de west. 
He sings bass wid de glee club, picks de viol an' 
banjo too 
An' in book larnin' has a majic mine. 
His breast hits all jest kivered wid de prizes he has 
drew, 
A mo' progressin' boy yo'll nebber fine. 
28 



FREDERICK DOULGASS. 
ij» ^ ^ 

*ft\Ei came to us from out the cabin's gloom 

Unushered by the sound of harp and lyre, 
A swarthy slave, a soulless chattel whom 
The gods obscured within the slaver's mire; 
A Moses left upon the moat, 
To float. 

He floated through the forlorn years of youth 

A lone sea-farer off his native strand, 
'Till the king's daughter, led by love and truth, 
Made bold to bring the little one to land: 
A brilliant star set out to light. 

His night. 

Despite the cry of commoner and King, 

"Suffer no slave to learning's paradise" 
Led by the star he followed, journeying 
Beyond the range of ignorance and vice; 
While the sage sought a link to chain, 

His brain. 

He broke his bonds, yet, his unselfish soul 

Knew not that joy which cometh to the free, 
'Till, by his strife, he welcomed to the goal 
His fellowman to life's large liberty; 
And kindly clasped him to his breast. 

For rest. 

Through East and West, Northward and South, the 
thrall 
Of his soul's spell resounded, e'en the sea, 
Caught and re-echoed in deep tones to all, 
"Light, justice, truth and opportunity;" 
A Moses, aye, mighty to plead 
And lead. 
29 



He led us to the mountain peaks of pride, 

Unselfishness, self-sacrifice and love; 
Beyond the pale of passions that betide 
Into the purer atmosphere above, 
Thence vanished in the aureole. 

His soul. 

He came, he conquered; the receding tide 

Bore him beyond when the day's task was done; 
His words, his work forever will abide, 
Strong- as Gibraltar, brilliant as the sun, 
While freedmen sing through endless days. 

His praise. 

BALLADE TANTALIZIN' BROWN. 

>e? >e» ^ 

/n\ABEL is a maid most fair. 

Prepossessing, slender, fleet; 
Eyes of blue that dance and dare 

When your gaze they chance to meet. 

Lordly lovers, vain, discreet, 
Fain would place on her a crown, 

But to me she is effete — 
I like tantalizin' brown. 

Mabel is a maid most fair. 

Hath both shapely form and feet; 
With this damsel debonair 

In society elite 

Few there are who can compete. 
She's a star of great renown. 

Yet her charms I must forbear — 
I like tantalizin' brown. 

Mabel is a maid most fair. 

But for happiness complete 
Give me dusky-reddish Lear; 
30 



Smooth-skinned, stately, staunch and neat. 

I would at her shapely feet 
Lay my soul andbody down, 

Just for her alone I care— 
I like tantalizin' brown. 

L' ENVOI. 
/TUPID, I care not how sweet 
^ Is the fairest maid in the town; 
Other hues are obsolete, 
I like tantalizin' brown. 

SONNET THE WAYFARER. 

liP i<? *? 

If SAW a child brought^to a park to play, 
" Charmed and enraptured with the cheerful scene, 
Clap its g-lad hands in happy, childish mien 
And gambol on the green sward all the day, 
'Till its g-ood guardian, seeing the last red ray 
Ravished by silvering shallows, calm, serene. 
In sweet cadences called, "Come now, my queen," 
Alas! How loth the child was to obey! 
Methought me, then, how we weak mortals prove 
Recreant to the Father, kind and just; 
Unheedful of Him who would guide aright 
The faltering footstep, through the gloomy grove. 
And lead the lonely way-farer from the dust. 
Into a lovely mansion of delight. 

DAT DE-PAHT-MENTAL STO'. 

ii» >? ^ 

mriHEN I visited dat city 
^^ I jes staid a week er so, 
But I seed mo' in dat spasm 

Dan I ebber seed befo'. 
I seed buggies what was hossless, 
31 



An' jes' lectric cyars galo', 
But de thing which tuk ma' fancy 
Was dat de-paht-mental sto'. 

I seed palaces an' mansions 

Pine enough fo' any king, 
Fire enjines drawed wid liosses 

When dat fire bell ud ring. 
I seed ships f'umev'y country 

Pullin'up beside de sho'. 
But de thing what tu'k ma' fancy 

Was dat de-paht-mental sto'. 

I seed fine hotels an' fac'ries, 

I seed buildin's tall an' gran'. 
Soldiers marchin' in persession 

Wid a mighty fine brass ban'; 
An' I visited de opry 

Whar I seed a funny sho', 
But it wasn't half es wondrous 

Ez dat depaht-mental sto'. 

I've seed wonders in de forest, 

I've seed wonders on de sea, 
An' sum wonderful inventions 

What was puzzlin' tew me; 
But dey warnt quite interestin' 

Nor es beautiful a sho' 
Es dat wondrous exhibition 

In dat de-paht-mental sto'. 

Hit was sebenteen times taller 

Dan dat court-house in ma town, 

An' hit reacht a block de front way, 
An' hit reacht a block aroun'. 

An' de goods dar in de windah 
What dey put dar fo' tew sho' 
32 



Was de fines' dat I ebber seed 
In any kind ur sto'. 

Dar was stacks ob coats an' vestes 

Stacked up nigh a mountain high, 
Dar was dresses ob all fashions 

Dat yo' couldn't hep but buy; 
Dar was shoes an' hats an' slippers 

Lak I nebber seed befo', 
Stacked up higher dan dat ceiiin' 

In dat de-paht-mental sto'. 

Dey had hardware, saws an' hatchets, 

Pistils, guns an' cannon balls, 
Flags tew deckerate de ceiiin' 

An' a spouten watah-falls. 
Dey had groceries, hams an' bacon, 

An' some sugar white es snow; 
Dey had everything you'd call fo' 

In dat de-paht-mental sto'. 

In all ma life I nebber seed 

No sich a great big crowd 
A-pushin' an' a-shovin' folks. 

An' talkin' jest es loud 
'Bout dis blue goods or dat red sack, 

A-blockin' up de aisle, 
An' buyin' dresses, hats and things 

Objes de latest style. 

Well, I walked dar by de entrance 

Ob dat de-paht-mental sto'. 
An' I sez unto de flo' man 

What was standin' by de doah, 
"Suh, I wants tew buy sum collahs 

An' a pair er socks or two, 
An' a sack er good terbacker, 

An' a plug er so tew chew. 
33 



"An' I also wants sum gallusses, 

A necktie an' a shirt, 
What I heerd dat yo' was sellin' 

Mighty nigh es cheap es dirt. 
An' sum dress goods fo' dem gals o' mine, 

A bonnet fo' mo wife, 
An' fo' mo lil' boy I wants, 

A great big sharp jack-knife," 

Sez he, "Suh, you'll fin' de collahs 

Jes six columns down dis aisle, 
Den tew de lef eight columns mo' 

You'll see dem in a pile; 
De shirts twelve counters tew de east 

Ob what de collahs be; 
Three columns mo' t'wards de west 

De cullud socks you'll see." 

"Terbacker, pipes and cigarettes, 

An' smokin' goods yo'll fin' 
Fo'th column, sebenth counter west 

Upon floor number nine." 
But 'fore he got through tellin' me 

'Bout how tew fin' dem aisles 
Dat crowd jes swept me fum ma feet 

An' ca'ied me seben miles. 

Dey trampled on ma corns an' toes, 

Dey broke bote ob ma laigs; 
Dey mashed in seben ribs ob mine 

De same as dey was aigs; 
Dey busted loose ma collah bone, 

Dey broke ma elbo jint. 
An' dey des jabbed me in de back 

Wid deah umbrella pint. 

Well, Ise 'turned now fum dat city, 
An' Ise glad Ise home again, 
34 



Doug-h a visit tew dem places 
Is a pleasure now an' den; 

But ef ebber I should visit 
Dat dar city enny mo', 

I will sho'ly keep ma distance 

Fum dat de-paht-mental sto.' 

BALLADE OF THE SIMPLE LIFE, 
li* >? >i» 

We bear much of the simple life, 

Its intonation must sound fine 
To the victorious in the strife, 

Who own a gold or silver mine. 

The head of some immense combine 
Mig^ht leave such precepts with each heir — 

In order to remain in line. 
One must become a millionaire. 

The spirit everywhere is rife. 

It portrays no ominous sign; 
A pillow 'tis where each rich wife 

In solitude would fain recline; 

The social stress she would consign 
To some new aspirant most fair; 

To worship at this simple shrine 
One must become a millionaire. 

The autocrat who blows his fife 

Should slake his thirst with no rare wine; 
Nor should he eat with inlaid knife, 

He should not simple food decline; 

Imported 'kerchiefs, superfine, 
He should not use to mop a tear; 

To live up to this life's design 
One must become a millionaire. 

35 



L ' ENVOI, 

The poor have nothing- to assign, 
No luxuries have they to spare; 

To lead the simple life divine 

One must become a millionaire. 

BALLADE OF THE CITY BOARDER. 
^ >? 1^ 

It is a most beautiful place, 

Located on a thoroughfare 
Where to abide is no disgrace, 

Even to some big millionaire; 

Just every luxury is there, 
Nothing of comfort doth it lack. 

But of it all I must despair — 
The fact is that my funds are slack. 

The land-lady I fear to face, 

Although she has a face most fair; 
I don't think I can keep the pace. 

Both board and room are far too dear; 

The parlor furnishings are rare, 
Set off with novel bric-a brae, 

And yet I cannot remain here— 
The fact is that my funds are slack. 

I tell my friends most any place 

Would suit me better, I declare, 
With emphasizing poise of grace, 

The rooms are damp and awful drear; 

I tell them that the walls are bare, 
The dismal place has gone to rack, 

No longer for the house I care— 
The fact is that my funds are slack 

36 



l' envoi. 

Prince, I regret it, but I fear 

To the old farm I must go back; 

To-morrow I will move elsewhere — 

The fact is that my funds are slack. 

BALLADE OF HATS AND HEADS. 
ii» ^ >^ 

"Don't put a five dollar hat on a five cent head. 
-Booker T. Washington. 

Mayhap you all your time apply 

Translating Latin, French and Greek; 
With all your might you would decry. 

One who could not some German speak; 

Unless you own a mountain peak, 
An islet or a river bed. 

To buy a costly hat is cheek — 
For yours is but a five cent head. 

You may have quite a pleasing eye 

A countenance quite mild and meek; 
Good manners you exemplify 

To the exclusive social clique; 

Yet, if you don't possess the streak 
To purchase real estate inbred. 

Go fish some old hat from a creek — 
For yours is but a five cent head. 

Perhaps you easily outvie 

Your most unmerciful critique; 
The great high place you occupy 

May fittingly your worth bespeak; 

But if the dimes you earn each week 
Purchase no land, but hats instead, 

You are no genius but a freak — 
For yours is but a five cent head. 
37 



L' ENVOI. 

Unless you own a house unique, 
A flat, a farm, or water-shed, 

Just wear a head-piece quite antique — 
For yours is but a five cent head. 

BALLADE OF HUMAN BLISS. 
^ yf ^ 

With brush and palette to essay. 
Upon the canvas resting- there. 

To paint a picture grave or gay 

And execute each stroke with care, 
That, keen eyed critics, debonair, 

Finding nothing at all amiss 

Pronounce it art beyond compare; 

This is the height of human bliss. 

The role of Spartacus to play 

Before the foot-lights flaming flare; 
To cruise about in cove or bay 

The consort of some billionaire; 

To eat and drink the best of fare. 
And every dismal thought dismiss; 

To be released from pain or care; 
This is the height of human bliss. 

To be the hero of the day 

At some punctillious affair; 
And proudly bear the palm away 

With quite a supercilious air; 

To venture that none other dare 
And thereby bridge some great abyss; 

To brave a lion in his lair; 
This is the height of human bliss. 

l' envoi. 
Frail maidens, charming, chaste and fair 
Man hath no greater joy than this; 
38 



To kiss your hands, your lips, your hair; 
That is the heig"ht of human bliss! 

A BALLADE OP DREAMLAND. 
»j» ^i* ^ 

Gone are the days that were drear. 

Blue is the sky and the sea, 
Balmy and cool is the air, 

Green is the fresh shrubbery; 

Birdie, atilt in the tree, 
Sing" to the pansy and rose. 

Stir not love's old memory, 
Let me in dreamland repose. 

Gay are the loves young and fair 

Rollicking- over the lea, 
Without a pain or a care 

They have a great jubilee; 

Ah! it is now I would flee. 
Vanish, as j^'esterday's snows: 

Zephrs, re-echo my plea. 
Let me in dreamland repose. 

I know the waterfall there 

Ripples a welcome for me, 
Yet I must turn a deaf ear 

To its first spring symphony; 

Let me awhile now be free 
Here, where some brisk brooklet flows. 

Under some great spreading tree 
Let me in dreamland repose. 

l'envoi 

Spring, I am sickened,! fear. 

Not of the grandeur that glows, 

I have spring fever severe — 
Let me in dreamland repose. 

38 



MAI' AGE AN' DIVO'CE. 
1? >i» 1? 

When I went tew chu'ch las Sunday 

I was spectin' fo' to see 
Dat dar pahsun preach a sermont 

'Bout salvation full an' free; 
What yo' reckon was de subject 

Dat he choosed fo' his disco'se? 
Hit was awfully surprisin', 

'Twas 'bout "ma'iage an' divo'ce." 

Well nigh all de population 

From erroun about dis town 
Crowded in dat evenin' service 

Fo' tew heah what Pahsun Brown 
Would delucidate consarnin' 

Ob dis unheered ob disco'se 
'Bout dis eberlastin' question 

Ob de "mai'age an' divo'ce." 

"Fustly, brederin," said de pahsun, 

"An' ma deah good sistahs, too, 
I spec dat youse all bin readin' 

What de papahs sez tew yo' 
'Bout dis all important question 

What I choosed es ma disco'se. 
Hit's a mos' momentious topic, 

Dis heah ma'iage an' divo'ce." 

"In dat solemn ceremony 

Whar a lovin' couple weds, 
When de preacher 'nounces blessins 

Es dey lowly bows dey haids, 
Den hit tis Ise alius thinkin' 

Whuther dey'll stick by dat course, 
Or dey'll follow up dis fashion 
Ob de mai'age an' divo'ce. 
iO 



"Thirdly, brederins an' sistahs 

Dere's a principle at stake, 
Case, if I remembers rightly. 

Hit's jes fifty cents an' cake 
Dat a pahsun g-its a weddin'. 

While de dollars, den, ob cou'se. 
Goes tew pay some wise ole lawyah 

Fo' tew git a quick divo'ce." 

"Now de scriptur' speaks out plainly 

Dat when once in wedded life 
He who turns frum out dat furrow, 

Dat means separates his wife, 
Loses all his chance fo' glory; 

Den hit follows now, ob cou'se 
Yo mus' all be awful keerful 

Ob dis ma'iage an' divo'ce. 

•'Look at Brudder Benny Johnson, 

Also sistah Annie Brown, 
An' a dozen udder couples 

I kin name right in dis town, 
What has stuck right close together 

Jes defyin' ebery fo'ce 
An' not payin' eny 'tenshun 

Tew dis ma'iage an' divo'ce." 

"Lastly, brederin', hit is rumored. 

An' I, wid dese years, has heerd 
What de officers is doin', 

An' Ise awfully a-feered 
Dat quite soon dey'll be expellin' 

Frum dis membership, ob co'se 
All de couples who is 'fected 

Wid dis ma'iage and divo'ce. 

"Now if yo' has lost yo're stif'kit 
Ob de ma'iage dat yo' had, 
41 



Or youse lef yo' wife er husban' 
Jes bekase one ob yo's mad, 

It all comes under dis question, 
An' I'll sho' de proper co'se 

Dat yo' all mus' sholy follow 
In dis ma'iag-e an' divo'ce. 

•' 'Fesser Pumpkin, play dat orgin, 

Mistah Sexton, lock dat door. 
Now den, yo' disj'inted couples 

Meet me heah erpon dis flo' 
An' I'll settle once fo'evah, 

Ef I hev tew use sum fo'ce, 
Dis mos' eberlastin' question 

Ob de ma'iage an' divo'ce." 

Wid dese words he closed his sermont, 

Shet his book an' marched him down 
Tew de front part ob de railin,' 

Whar tew ma' surprise he foun' 
Several couples dar a-waitin' 

Les' he 'ud use dat 'suasive fo'ce 
Dat he spoke ob in dis mattah 

Ob de ma'iage an' divo'ce. 

Den hit was I g-rowed uneasy 

An' I looked acrost de aisle 
At ma own ole 'oman, Mandy, 

But she nebber shed a smile. 
She was lookin' jes es airy 

Lak dere warnt no facts nor fo'ce 
Dat would chang-e her way ob thinkin' 

Sence dat jedge grant her divo'ce. 

But I picked up little courag-e 
An' I moved dar by her side; 

Sez I, "Mandy," jes es kindly 

"I wants yo' tew be ma bride, 
42 



Yo'se done heerd dat pahsun preachin', 
An' he's showed de proper co'se 

Dat we all shuuld be pursuin' 
In dis mattah ob divo'ce. 

All ma clo'es es gettin ragged, 

I kin nuther eat nor sleep, 
Let me come back home, now honey, 

I will ebery promise keep. 
Understan', hit taint ma purpose 

Fo' tew add tew dat disco'se. 
Case yo' know dat hits yo' duty 

Fo' tew burn up dat divo'ce. 

"Ise got rheumatiz mos' badly 

Sence we 'greed tew live apart, 
But de worse pains dat Ise havin' 

Es right 'roun erbout ma heart. 
Yo'se de only pussonlivin' 

Dat posses de pow'r an' fojce 
Fo' tew cure dis awful ailin — 

Jes' burn up dat ol' divo'ce. " 

"Mose," sez Mandy, "Ise bin thinkin' 

What de pahsun sez es right." 
So we moved t'wards de railin' 

An' re-ma'ied thar dat night; 
Had a scrumtious weddin' dinnah, 

Chicken sarved wid ebery co'se. 
An' de bestes part about it, 

Mandy burnt up dat divo'ce. 

WHEN MABEL SINGS 
^ i<» ii» 

When Mabel sings, ye gods, when Mabel sings! 

The people thereabouts desire wings. 

Such rythmic measures fill the troubled air, 
They fain would fly far from the notes they hear; 

43 



They would give up their diamonds, pearls and ring's, 
Fine raiment, gold and many other things, 
Just for the respite golden silence brings. 
When Mabel sings! 

Her harsh voice rasps like some old wagon's springs. 

Or rusty hinges of a gate that swings; 
Frantic flat-dwellers romp and pull their hair. 
And with some batting fill each tingling ear. 

Ye gods! what joy the final measure brings 
When Mabel sings! 

TEN QUEER TALES OF A TALE-TELLER. 

li* >? ^e* 

I 

TTHE busy bard need use no square, 
Tho' he's a story-builder; 
No prints of plans hang in his lair, 
To bother and bewilder. 

II 

Quite oft, for thoughts, he is at sea. 

And yet he is no sailor. 
His trouser legs bag at the knee, 

Tho' he is quite a tale-or. 

Ill 
'Tis strange that while he lives apart 

From painters and their mixtures. 
That he should paint with perfect art 

Most beautiful word-pictures. 

IV 

He runs not like the fleet track men, 

A mile a minute doing; 
Yet he does sprinting in his den— 

The story's end pursuing. 
44 



V 

He has no base of bricks or pegs 
From which his building- tapers; 

His base, a table with four legs, 
On which he lays his papers. 

VI 

He needs no architect to plot, 

He draws his own formations 

While resting on a cosy cot, 
In deepest meditations. 

VII 
Each day a new story he builds, 

This little old tale-teller; 
And yet but little space he fills — 

He is but a flat-dweller. 

VIII 
A builder's story is opaque. 

So he builds windows to it; 
A story builder none doth make — 

Yet we can all see through it. 

IX 
The locomotive he doth fear, 

He dares not touch a lever; 
Yet he will bravely engineer 

A short story quite clever. 

X 

The tenth tale of these ten tales told 
Can climax have no higher, 

Than stories editors unfold 
To start the office fire. 



45 



3 



BALLADE OF TAINTED COIN. 
^ ^ ^ 

OHN ROCKEFELLER and the rest 
Of liberal minded millionaires, 

Whose money priests have deemed a pest, 
Infected with impure atfairs, 
Mig-ht well divide it into shares 

For those outside the favored few 

Who have no mite to purchase wares — 
Just any kind of coin will do. 

The young man who would fain attest 

His love for some maid who endears 
Her sweet self to him by bequest 
Of sweets no other idol shares, 
But who, with all his heart declares 
He does not own a single sou. 

To such they should not turn deaf ears- 
Just any kind of coin will do. 

The luckless who after a quest 

Of fleeting fortune many years 
Find out that though they did their best 

That they are still far in arrears; 

The divorced husband who oft swears 
Because the alimony's due; 

These would the lucre might be theirs- 
Just any kind of coin will do. 



L ' ENVOI. 

My lords, seek solace not in tears, 
Nor go and burn the residue; 

Tis easy to find lots of heirs- 
Just any kind of coin will do. 



46 



BALLADE OF WOMAN'S RIGHTS. 
^ ^ ^ 

ROM the far time of Eve's first age 

To the Elizabethan sway, 
Prom charming- Cleopatra's rage 

Down to the present modern day, 

Whether respecting fine array 
Or any other thing it might. 

To laugh, to weep, to sing, to play- 
It is a woman's sacred right. 

If she should choose an equipage. 
Or a fine yacht to sail away. 

She need not try at all to gauge 

The price by her poor husband's pay. 
For if he tried at all to stay. 

The purchase of the pure delight 

This mandate she would soon convey — 

It is a woman's sacred right. 

To dance about upon the stage 

In quite a gentle, modest (?) way, 
To very thoughtlessly engage 

Herself to one young man a day; 

To write and read a long essay, 
Or a new novel every night; 

To balk at the stern word "obey"— 
It is a woman's sacred right, 

L ' ENVOI. 

Prince, let the cause be what it may. 
However trivial or trite; 

Tradition has but this to say- 
It is a woman's sacred right. 



47 



SONNET— TIDINGS OF IMMORTALITY. 
^ 1^ ^ 

21 STOOD beside the bier of the dead, 

Shedding- sad tears of sorrow and regret 
That mortals should have ever been beset 
By such a severance of life's slender thread. 
But while I stooped to kiss the cold forehead 
And the wan lips, now in death's rig-or set. 
Pausing- the while to vainly fume and fret, 
These tidings in the peaceful face I read: 
"Stand not, my love, and sullenly shed tears. 
Since life eternal crowns the soul set free 
When resurrection rends the sombre sod; 
But rather down upon thy knees make prayers, 
Say from thy soul of immortality. 
For this good gift I fain would thank thee, God! " 

RONDEAU. 
^ y? ^ 

gHE said "Hello," I deemed it quite 
Inapt, ill-mannered, impolite 
A salutation to suggest; 
But then, you know, at most, at best— 
I thought her greeting rather trite. 

But still, persistently, despite 
My mental anguish and unrest 
In seeming raptures of delight 
She said "Hello!" 

I thought me now, with much foresight, 

To set her salutation right 

I'd call; but then to my request 
For Central 1-8-9-6- West, 

In accents musical and light- 
She said, "Hello!" 
48 



m 



RETROSPECTION. 

^ i<» ii» 

HEN thou did'st search thy mind's mausoleum, 
Alone, save for the fire's fantastic light, 
And the wan phantom-sounds of sombre night. 
Bleak wintry winds wedded to woe and gloom, 
I know what spectres issued from the tomb, 

What sprites appeared thy vision to aft'right. 
What deeds undone, what wrongs thou failed to 
right, 

Returned to rail thee ere eternal doom; 

Then, too, I know what grief convulsed thy breast. 

What sorrow-pains pierced through thy throbbing 

heart, 
And left thine eyes weary of weeping, red: 
The ghost of a once dear departed guest 

From whom thou fain would nevermore depart — 
Of love that lives but yet to thee is dead. 






49 



PART II 
BITS OF FICTION 



THE FLIGHT OF THE FEARLESS. 
^ >i» ^ 

jOB BROWN, commonly known among- the inhabitants 
of Ebonville as "Uncle Bob," was considered fear- 
less. No one was skeptical regarding- his fearlessness, 
nor dared harbor the least suspicion as to his being su- 
perstitious. If, like most of his dusky brethren, he 
"ruther not" begin a job on a Friday, the invariable 
cause was physical incapacity rather than superstitious 
fear. If, perchance, during his nocturnal peramulations 
myriad phantoms darted about his pathway as he neared 
the village cemetery, he would approach the hideous 
spectre and discovering it to be only an illusion, he 
would pass unperturbed on his homeward way, always 
attributing sundry bruises and scars visible upon va- 
rious parts of his anatomy at the time of these esca- 
pades, to his bad sight and his haste to reach home. 

It is not surprising, then, that when the new hospi- 
tal desired a strong orderly for night duty he alone vol- 
teered to accept the position, while the timidity of his 
fellows permitted them only to pass the frowning insti- 
stitution at a safe distance and with much trepidation. 

When the first month ended '-Uncle Bob'' was pretty 
well initiated into the mysteries of the hospital. For 
days he had astonished his dusky auditors with wild 
and weird stories of his triumphs in the wards, operating 
room and morgue of the institution, never failing to im- 
press them with the fact that it would be impossible to 
run the institution without his services. He was, indeed, 
the most fearless man in Ebonville, and was regarded 
by his peers with "superstitious reverence." 

It was midnight. The stillness of the hour was bro- 
ken only by the tread of the nurses on their periodical 

52 



rounds of the wards. Uncle Bob, seated upon a bench 
upon the lawn, just outside the door of the basement 
ward occupied by the male patients, smoked away on 
his old corn-cob pipe and hoped for the approach of the 
morning' when he should be off duty. He fell asleep. 
He dreamed. He saw visions. Yes, there .they were — 
all the patients, both white and black, who had died 
since his incumbency. They were after him. He fled. 
They pursued him; he soug^ht refug"e under the front 
steps of his home. They followed menacing-ly — there 
was no escape. Oh! there was Jim, wicked Jim, now a 
black demon. He had died muttering curses and impre- 
cations. He was leading the other demons. His blood- 
shot eyes glared just as they had in his dying moments, 
the bandage was about his head, the white gown thrown 
loosely about his emaciated form. They sought to kill 
the orderly. Fire issued from their mouths, and smoke 
from their nostrils. He shouted for help. He awoke 
with a start. He chuckled over his fears. After all it 
was only a dream. He shook off his lethargy and relit 
his pipe, when his attention was attracted by a peculiar 
noise. He looked across the lawn into the pitch dark- 
ness of the night whence the strange sounds came. My! 
There were the same grotesque figures he had seen in his 
dream. He was not afraid, but as it was getting a little 
chilly he decided to withdraw, which he did unceremo- 
niously, falling over the bench in his haste. He closed 
and bolted the hall door and went into the basement 
ward. We glanced up and down the double row of white 
cots, scarcely visible in the darkened place. His eyes 
rested upon the cot upon which wicked Jim had died. 
Yes, there was Jim lying upon the cot. No, impossible, 
for it had not been occupied since his death. He ap- 
proached it cautiously; not a sound was emitted. He 
turned on the nearest light — yes, it was wicked Jim's 
ghost. The fearless orderly stood for a^ moment trem- 

53 



blingf; it sprang* from the couch and fell prostrate at the 
feet of the bewildered orderly. 

A broken sash and a wrecked panel of the picket 
fence left in his wake gave practical evidence of the 
brave orderly's senile agility and an inkling if his sprint- 
ing abilities. 

Wicked Jim's twin brother, delirious with fever, lost 
to the hospital a fearless, valuable "ord'ly," whose back 
pay still awaits his return and who, like the hospital, is 
running yet in spite of his contrary predictions. 

THE SACRIFICE OF RICHARD BLAIR. 

s» ^ 1? 

^^TIYfTjILL they ever come?" said one of the eager 
^^^•^ watchers. "Who cares?" replied Richard, 
and suiting his words to action he continued to busy 
himself with his plants, oblivious to what he termed the 
"silly interests" of his fellows. 

For days and days eager eyes, shaded by rough, un- 
couth hands, looked out at irregular intervals over the 
Virginia shore riverward, ever alert for a glimpse of the 
expected ship with its cargo of precious damsels of con- 
nubial proclivities whom the mother country had gener- 
ously provided for the lonely colonists at the nominal 
cost of transportation and one hundred and fifty pounds 
of the Virginia weed, the main product of the colonial 
agriculturist. 

The granting of the "Great Charter" which awarded 
the colonists well earned liberties, was indeed a fitting 
climax to their struggles and privations; but the scheme 
for the importation of young women to become the wives 
of these liberty and fortune-seeking argonauts stimula- 
ted the latent energies of the most chronic laggard, dis- 
sipated the despair of the most pessimistic, granted 
fresh impetus to the most aggressive and hopeful and 

51 



was indeed a bounty which amply rewarded each sacri- 
fice. But there was one among the liandful of intrepid 
pioneers — Richard Blair — who displayed little concern 
regarding the coming maidens. Young, tall, sturdy, 
fearless, inured to the hardships and privations of pio- 
neer life, far beyond even the ken of men twice his age; 
dignified and reserved, yet without conceit, firm and res- 
olute, yet affable and courteous, he was indeed a crite- 
rion for his fellows. 

"His heart is petrified," observed another of the 
watchers. "He has loved and lost," suggested a lad of 
strong matrimonial inclinations. "He'll change when 
the ship comes in," ventured a third, and the laughter 
that followed this good natured jesting echoed and re- 
echoed throujj^h field and forest. 

"When winter comes," said Richard, as he finished 
his labor and moved toward his cabin, "I'll have both 
money and tobacco, and you — only wives." 

"Miser," shouted a chorus of rough voices. 

When a boy of ten years, Richard, with his father, 
had joined the first colony sent out by Sir Walter Ra- 
leigh, under the command of Sir Richard Greenville. 
When Ralph Lane succeeded in command of the colony, 
which had settled on Roanoke Island near the coast of 
North Carolina, little Richard usually accompanied the 
colonists on all their expeditions throughout the main- 
land. But when Lane, misled by the Indians, set out 
with most of his colonists in a fruitless effort to find the 
sea, supposed to be at the head of the Roanoke River, 
Richard was left with the guards at camp and during an 
attack by the Indians was captured and carried away 
into captivity by them. 

For many years he had remained with them, acquir- 
ing their modes of uncivilized nomadic life. During his 
captivity he fell in with the tribes of the border state, 
North Carolina, and remained among them during the 

55 



interval of the return of Raleigh's first colony at James- 
town and until the establishment of the third colony in 
1612, when, upon one of his excursions he ran upon the 
settlement, and so glad was he to come again to civiliza- 
tion that he discarded the feathers, war paint and wig- 
wam of the Indian for the rough garb, dug-out and log 
cabin of the settlers. 

It was little wonder, then, that while the hearts of 
his fellows throbbed with joy at the thought of their 
coming helpmeets he alone treated the event with cold 
indifference. 

It had been many days since the long looked-for ves- 
sel had put into port. The maidens for the most part had 
mated and married, and Jamestown had again resumed 
its wonted quiet. 

One fine summer day, while the men were busy in 
the fields and the women were about their domestic du- 
ties, the piercing cry of the Indians was heard, and ere 
they were checked and driven off many of the houses 
were razed and three hundred men, women and children 
ruthlessly maimed and massacred. 

But by far the most distressing feature of the car- 
nage was the capture of Agnes Smith, a comely maiden, 
who chose rather to wear away her life in kindly minis- 
trations to the sick, unfortunate and afflicted, than share 
the opulence of those who not infrequently sought her 
hand and heart. Affectionate, kind, generous, with 
angelic sweetness she flitted hither and thither from 
dug-out to cabin ministering to the needs of those on 
whom fortune frowned. 

As the limp form of their idol, hanging across the 
pommel of a red man's saddle vanished in the distance, 
the governor called for volunteers to go in pursuit of 
the fugitives and to the rescue of this angel of mercy. 
Old men noted for their valor, but now, overawed by the 
terrible conflict incident to the massacre, gazed, open- 

56 



mouthed, into space. Giddy youths, who had long- 
dreamed and waited for sucli an opportunity to display 
their bravery, slunk away from the task. 

In the interim there strode forth a personag^e who, 
without waste of words or wave of weapon, sprang- with 
the ag-ility of an adept equestrian upon the back of a 
wild pony who had lost its savage mount at the crack 
of a matchlock, and in an instant was off upon his onerous 
mission along the meandering path which led to the 
haunts of Indians beyond. 

One week passed and there was, as yet, no word 
either of the valiant volunteer, Richard Blair, or the 
maiden to whose rescue he had so gallantly gone. Then 
a fortnight, and rumors and runners were at rest. An- 
other week — no word; and another — and they were for- 
gotten. 

It was now mid-summer. The queen of the night, 
with unusual prodigality, emitted its brightest rays, 
seemingly to aid the solitary, dim-visaged sentinel, to 
peer into the deepest recesses of the adjacent forest and 
the narrow roadway that skirted the Jamestown bound- 
ary. With matchlock and fuse he patrolled the almost 
deserted byways, pausing at this dug-out or that to 
kindly twit the delinquent lover who little regarded the 
curfew and loitered to rob the fair lass of a virgin kiss 
ere leave-taking; or for a chat with their elders who de- 
lighted to talk as well as smoke tobacco at all times. 
But in the midst of a tirade directed against a happy 
pair who resented the interference of this self-appointed 
guardian of dual duties, he paused as if stricken dumb. 
The brisk breezes bore to his ear a wierd, thrilling, 
though not unfamiliar sound— the war whoop of the red 
man. Abushed behind a tree he peered in the direction 
from whence the sounds emanated, and saw in the dis- 
tance a single equestrian charging at a mad gallop down 
the road which trailed by his hiding place. He took 

67 



aim and when the horseman had gained a point off his 
ambuscade, fired. The steed shied at the sound of the 
gun-shot, and to the surprise of the sentinel and the ter- 
rified lass and swain, two bodies instead of one rolled 
from the back of the charger. 

It was indeed a strange, sad sight that greeted the 
sparsely clad villagers who assembled in the moon-lit 
grove at the call of the matchlock that night, A woman 
in the garb of a squaw, dust covered and blood stained, 
dragged herself beside the other fallen form and clasp- 
ing it in her arms, frantically called, "Richard, my Rich- 
ard!" But for Agnes there was no answer. 

"DADDY" GREEN'S BLASPHEMY. 
^ y^ y? 
♦flTT was the month of October. The dusky inhabitants 
" of Ebonville were happy. "De craps," for the most 
part, had been "laid by," and the incipience of the brief 
respite from the arduous work of the farm, ere the har- 
vesting began, brought happiness to each alike, from 
the tattered and dirt besmeared pickanniny, who tena- 
ciously dogged his mammy's steps as she wielded her 
hoe across the fields, till lulled to sleep between the 
corn rows by the melodies of the dusky tillers, to the 
decrepit veteran of ante-bellum days, still struggling 
from sun to sun, to wrest from his furrowed brow a sus- 
taining crust "tell degood Lawd should call himhence." 
Theirs was a dual joy, for it was not a time to be 
devoted alone to social pleasures and pastimes, but it 
had its religious aspect as well. This was "camp meet- 
in' " time, when the back slider would make his annual 
return to the fold, when sinners would tremuously seek 
the mourners' bench, when the clergy supplanted the 
dogmatic and traditionary tenets of the church with con- 
glomerate articulation, weird word-pictures of the future 
abode beyond, and tests of enduring lung power. 

58 



Already dodgers announcing' the approaching event 
had been scattered broadcast, and the score of Metho- 
dist churches comprising the district were malting both 
spiritual and temporal preparation for the annual reli- 
gious feast of a fortnight. 

The Sunday set as the grand opening day of the 
Ebonville camp meeting arrived. The three preceding 
days had been spent in the erection of improvised tents 
and shacks for the housing of the expected multitudes; 
and members who for thirty-odd years had watched the 
phenomenal growth of the Ebonville campgrounds were 
unanimous in declaring it to be "de mos' promisin' ob 
enny befo'." 

Ere the Sabbath morning had dawned the intensely 
religious had gathered in the little chapel for sunrise 
prayer, and the volume of their weird songs and happy 
shout permeated the edifice and escaped to the camping 
grounds, rudely awakening the slumbering delinquents 
and giving practical evidence "dat de speeret ob de 
Lawd was sho present 'mongst his childrens." 

All morning the assembled multitude was constant- 
ly being swelled, and the several hundred acres compris- 
ing the camp grounds fairly swarmed with vari-colored 
folk arrayed in raiment exceeding the gamut of tints in 
the rainbow and completely exhausting the catalogue of 
styles. Every conceivable kind of conveyance had been 
pressed into service, from the double-yoked ox-cart of 
the rustic farmer to the cushion-tired phaeton of the 
swell and swagger urbanite. 

The hour of the morning service arrived; the audi- 
torium, a crude brush arbor of immense proportions, sus- 
tained by massive log pillars and covered with brush 
wood, was crowded to its utmost capacity. 

Around this arbor, which was opened on all sides, 
every available vehicle and stump was utilized by the 
surplus of anxious worshippers who exceeded the pro- 

59 



vided seating- capacit}' within this quaint temple of the 
forest. 

But fifteen minutes remained of the last half-hour 
preceding- the morning service and devoted to a grand 
love feast. The voices of five thousand dusky songsters, 
with their peculiar quivers and variations, peeled forth 
in song, stirred the vari-colored leaves of the brush-cov- 
ered roof, and held in abeyance and enchantment the 
fleet-winged aerial songsters. At intervals the men and 
women would arise, and, amid an orgie of dance and 
shout, and to the accompaniment of hand-clapping, 
would in loud and exciting tones and with much wild 
gesticulation, give in their testimony in reply to the 
leader's inquiry "es ter how dey stood wid de Lawd." 

At the base of the improvised dais at one end of the 
arbor, and within the railing that served to separate the 
church dignitaries from the laity, sat a man without 
whose presence the meeting would have been incom- 
plete. It was his voice which could be distinguished 
above the volume of the five thousand; his loud "amens" 
that were courted by the fearless who arose to give in 
their testimony. Next to the "slidin' elder," so desig- 
nated because of the frequency of his itinerary through 
the district, '-Daddy" Green, the father of the Ebonville 
camp ground, was the most beloved and popular. He 
rose and strode slowly forward until the rough railing 
arrested his progress, and there calmly awaited the 
ending of the melody. 

Although time had made him liberal concessions, 
the kinky fringe of snowy wool that skirted his bald 
pate, the emaciated form, the palsied hand and limping 
gait were but precursors of the fast approaching end. 

At this juncture "de slidin' elder" and other ecclesi- 
astical dignitaries ascended the improvised rostrum and 
took their respective places preparatory to the opening 
sermon. The last echo of the hymn reverberated and 

60 



died, then "Daddy" Green drew from the pocket of his 
capacious coat a larg-e red kerchief, mopped liis face, 
wiped and readjusted his steel-framed spectacles. Fe- 
verish expectancy pervaded the audience. For three 
decades "Daddy" Green had had his say, and now five 
thousand necks were craned, eag-er lest a word of fath- 
erly advice be lost; and then, too, a degree of solemnity 
attended the occasion, as the refrain of the hymn sug-- 
gfested: 

"I doan know, I doan know, 

I doan know, my Lawd, 
Hit mout be de las' time 

I doan know.'' 

At last he began: "Brederin' an' sistahs," said he 

with all the pomp and dignity of some judicial tribunal 

about to render some important decision, "hits blame 

hot to-day." That his announcement was axiomatic 

there was not a question. It was hot— yes very hot 

and had one consulted the mercury he would, no doubt, 
have agreed with the speaker; and yet there was not 
that unanimous and spontaneous concurrence on the part 
of the audience such a fact should have elicited. This 
startling ejaculation was electrical in its effect upon the 
gathered throng; the "slidin' elder" slid with all haste 
to the side of the erstwhile exhorter and sought to re- 
strain him from further emphatic elucidation upon the 
meterological conditions. A slumbering occupant of the 
"amen connah," oblivious of what was being said, awoke 
at the critical moment and sought to punctuate the ob- 
servation of the exhorter with cries of "Amen! Amen!! 
Hallileu-gha!!!" much to the merriment of the impious 
and the discomfiture of the ultra-religious. A deaf "sis- 
tah," misapprehending the commotion, and losing no 
chance to give vent to her pent up religious fervor, per- 
sisted in voicing the sentiments of the exhorter with in- 
termittent shouts of "Lawd! aint hit so!" 

61 



Some were convulsed with laughter, others amazed 
and chagrined; but "Daddy" Green was cool and col- 
lected A good old melody was "raised" and the sur- 
rounding woods rang with the echo, but the exorterwas 
not to be "sung down." He raised his feeble hands de- 
precatingly and, as if by magic, every voice hushed si- 
multaneously, and those who sought to pacify and re- 
strain him retreated not only to respectful but safe dis- 

4- ^T\ f* P S 

Had the vilest "sinnah" delivered in the same dra- 
matic manner the same blasphemous words that fell 
from the lips of the good "Daddy," he would not have 
created greater excitement. For he it was who toiled 
assiduously all night till the early hours of morn at the 
mourners bench with the penitents, whispering encour- 
aging words in their ears and urging them to flee the 
w^'rath to come; it was he who only three years before had 
preached sanctification from that very stand and who 
was now the chief exponent of this higher religious life 
among his dusky brethren; and now he had disgraced 

himself! 

Many and varied were the conjectures as to the 
cause of it. It was conceded that not infrequentfy "Dad- 
dy" Green received inspiration from a spiritous as well 
as spiritual source in spite of his "standin' " in de chu'ch; 
but in this he had never exceeded his religious license. 
Finally the musings of the curious were suddenly ter- 
minated by the firm reiteration of his startling introduc- 
tion: "Breddern' and sistahs, hits blame hot to-day!" 
After pausing to collect himself a little, and looking the 
while the audiance full in the face, he completed the fi- 
ery introduction by saying, "Dese was de fust wuds dat 
I heerd dis mawnin break de Sunday ca'm." 

This explanation served to restore comparitive or- 
der, and the good "Daddy" developed his theme by stat- 
ing that, as he wended his way toward the place of wor- 

62 



ship that morning- he overheard as he passed the hud- 
dled groups of men on the way, this shocking- comment 
which led him to quote it as a text of an excoriating- ex- 
hortation upon blasphemy. 

His hearers were moved in turn to tears, wailing-s, 
and sh6uts by his fierce, impassioned condemnation of the 
wicked and earnest commendation of the just. It was, 
indeed, the greatest of days at the Ebonville camp meet- 
ing; and at its close scores had yielded to his strong ap- 
peal and had forsaken the broad for the narrow path. 

THE EBONVILLE WOMAN'S CLUB. 

»e» f ^ 

'TT'HE transformation of Lee's Landing, in the lower 
^^ Carolina, was as strikingly spectacular, though per- 
haps not as illusional, as some feat of legerdemain exe- 
cuted with adroit celerity. It had buried itself in the 
martial ashes left in Sherman's wake and had chose to 
remain indolent, inactive, isolated, giving no sign to the 
outer world of even intermittent vitality, but rather ob- 
serving with exactness that clause of the law of inertia 
which declares that a body at rest remains at rest. 

And so through four decades Lee's Landing slept, 
until the Yankee searchlight of progress roused it from 
its slumbers and disclosed the possibilities of its piney 
areas. Then Yankee ingenuity, thrift and capital, joined 
with Southern brawn, completed its rude but thorough 
awakening and rehabilitation. 

"Ebonville," that quarter of every American city 
where the Negro is wont to segregate, though obscured 
within the obscurity of Lee's Landing, obtruded itself 
obstreperously within the radius of the aforesaid survey 
of progress, put off the remnants of its ragged coat as did 
the rest of Lee's Landing its lethargy, and razed its hov- 
els to make place for the new railway terminals and the 

63 



abutting lumber mills established in their midst. Ebon- 
ville, as a wheel within a wheel, revolved with each ro- 
tation of its mate; but, as a wheel within a wheel, its 
compass was necessarily confined within the limitations 
of the narrower sphere. 

And so it followed that while the city developed 
materially, socially and intellectually, the settlement 
developed only industrially. "De Elder ob Ebonville" 
otherwise known as Rev. Silas Green, saw the situation 
and rejoiced. For forty odd years he had acted as legal 
and medical adviser and general counselor to his many 
parishioners and, he reasoned, if the other accessories 
so essential to the symmetrical development of a people 
were permitted he, with his traditions, would be very 
swiftly relegated to the rear and his usefulness brought 
to a premature end. It was little wonder then that, 
in keeping with his theory, while he found the inade- 
quate three months' school system good enough for the 
school children of his parish he sent his daughter, Man- 
da, a prepossessing dusky damsel, to a seminary in an 
adjoining state that she might have the advantage of the 
best moral, industrial and mental training. 

But while he interpreted for himself the hieroglyph- 
ics on the wall as to his own deficiencies, he was too 
obtuse to discern that in the "education ob his gal," as 
he was wont to put it, he was, like Haman, building a 
scaffold upon which he would be the first victim. 

During the four years of Manda's attendance at the 
seminary, the increase of the acreage of the elder's farm 
failed not to keep pace with the increase of membership 
"in the Baptis' chu'ch," while a new parsonage, re- 
splendent with white paint and green shutters was 
made ready for her home-coming at the end of her 
senior year. 

On the evening of her return, coyly ensconced in a 
comfortable rocker and surrounded by the family circle, 

64 



Manda, in retrospective mood, entertained with incident 
and anecdote of her school days until the magic spell of 
Morpheus entangled her auditors, one by one, within 
the mesmeric meshes of sleep, from which they strug- 
gled not to be freed. 

Yet seemingly undisturbed by the commingled ma- 
ternal and paternal sonorous snoring, to which their 
slumbering progeny contributed their full share in stac- 
catto chorus, the whole blending in an inharmonious 
discord, only to be equaled by the unmusical babel of 
an imagined Chinese cantanta; unmoved by this appar- 
ent unappreciation of narratives with which she brimmed 
and bubbled, even as an uncorcked cask of effervescent 
spirits, she continued in silent reverie, the retrospection 
which the proverbial ears of the walls would have char- 
itably heard audibly. 

In her reverie she returned to the unostentatious 
seminary from which she had been but so recently ush- 
ered into the world to do battle, not only regaled and 
panoplied in the musty mail of the pedagogists' texts 
and theorems, but rather armed and armoured with new 
martial habiliments, of which excellence in domestic 
science was the defending sword and moral and mental 
perfection, the breast-plate of protection. She looked 
again into the wan but kind faces of the missionary 
teachers who had come down from the cold, cold North- 
land with warm hearts to train the head, heart an hand 
of black folk; again she gamboled and frisked o'er the 
green sward with her schoolmates as of yore, and fol- 
lowed in routine the paths and by-paths along whose 
meanderings she had been led through four years, to 
the incidents of her graduating day. 

But while Manda' s power of mental concentration 
was proof against the inharmonies that continued with 
automatic regularity during her reverie, like Achilles, 
its invulnerable spot was penetrated when the harmoni- 

65 



ous chorus of serenaders without struck its first chord 
and the bantering- breezes bore to her bewildered ears 
strains of the familiar song: 

"Knocking-, knocking, who is there?" 
And yet the joyous serenaders, as though practical con- 
tradiction of the songster's sentiment would lend jocu- 
larity to the occasion, knocked not, but continued to 
sing- 
Waiting, waiting, " 

but waiting not they entered the parsonage's open port- 
als and followed in the wake of their voices, down the 
narrow corridor and into the midst of the now bewil- 
dered family circle. There the little company circled 
again and again around the center table that fairly 
seemed to reel and totter beneath the rain of parcels and 
packages "fotched foh Miss Manda," as practical evi- 
dence of the esteem in which she was held by them; 
while the parson's pickannies, now thoroughly awake, 
scampered hither and thither to fetch stools, boxes, 
crates, pails and what-nots that the merry throng might 
be seated. 

To the nonchalant observer this gathering of be- 
spectacled "uncles" and "aunties", bedecked in bright 
bandannas and their best Sunday dress, accompanied by 
their youthful kith and kin with whom they joined in 
joke and song, would have appeared so mirthful that he 
would have been shaken with laughter even as a reed by 
the wind. But to the participants it was as sacred if, 
perhaps, not as solemn as the coronation of a king. 

And if there was a scintilla of doubt as to their sin- 
cerity the solemnity of "Aunt Dinah" would have been 
suflicient to have dispelled the least doubt lingering in 
the mind of the most skeptical when she strode forth to 
the center of the room and striking a characteristic a- 

kimbo said: 

66 



"Miss Manda, in behafs ob de ladies aid sassiety an' 
dese udder friens whats gathered heah dis evenin' I wel- 
comes yoh back tew Ebonsville. Ca'se we's all fond ob 
yo' gal, dat we is," continued Aunt Dinah when the 
laughter that followed the collapse of a frail crate 
whose resistance, overcome by the greater avoirdupois 
of Aunt Cinda had precipitated that worthy to the floor, 
and had been in turn reduced to convenient kindling 
wood. "Yas'm," resumed Aunt Dinah, "we'ssho' proud 
ob yoh gal, dat we is, an' we's glad dat yo's back." 

"Yas, chile, we sho' does 'predate yoh an' we wants 
yoh fer ter sho' yoh 'preciation ob us. Ca'se we aint got 
no book larnin' lak yoh yong folks, dat we aint, but we 
knows what we knows." 

"Dat we does," interrupted an enthusiast. 

"We knows," continued Aunt Dinah, "dat hit was 
de good Lawd dat done 'mancipate us, yas'm dat we 
does; an' we knows dat hit was de good Lawd what 
done saunt yoh off dar tew college so dat yoh kin come 
back and lead us de same es Moses done led de chillum 
in dat wilderness." 

"Dat's right," responded the other "sistahs" in 
unison. 

Aunt Dinah, encouraged by the words of approval 
assumed a new pose, and with many gesticulations, by 
way of emphasis, continued: "Ca'se things aint right 
heah in Ebonsville, chile, dat dey aint, an' we wants 
yoh foh tew sot um right, dat we does. We doan keer 
nothin' 'bout dese yah men folks," concluded Aunt Di- 
nah, "dat we dont, but we wants yoh ter take dese yah 
gals an* boys ob ourn an' teach dem lak yo'se been 
teached an' hep us in ebery way tew 'mancipate our- 
selves an' live lak folks." 

"Dat we does," echoed the "sistahs." 

The rapt and respectful attention accorded Aunt 
Dinah bespoke not only the superstitious reverence do- 

67 



tage oft times commands, but rather evidenced the ap- 
probation of the greater portion of the party with the 
marlred exception of "de Elder" and such of his flocli 
who had heard but too well the bugle call of the enemy 
to arms against their citadel. Indeed the kaleidoscopic 
changes that crept athwart the old prelates^s face and 
clouded his countenance with consternation as Aunt Di- 
nah proceeded to tire the first gun in the desultory at- 
tack, showed quite plainly the decision of this, the lead- 
er of the defensive, to return the enemy's fire. But this 
plan of action was thwarted not by the enemy, who 
were as strong in strategic maneuver as in bellicose 
aggressiveness, enthusiasm and valor, but rather by 
one whose interest in either side of the controversy was 
selfish, and who guarded his right to be heard at all 
times as zealously as the Spartan lad the secret of the 
fox concealed in his blouse. 

It was Abraham Lincoln Willwrite, wit, philoso- 
pher, poet, soldier of fortune, social lion of the Ebon- 
ville four hundred, and editor of the Ebonville Star, a 
try-iveekly. For there was no oil in his cruse — his 
measure of meal was low and he had long since sepa- 
rated himself from his last shekel. He had, therefore, 
taken counsel as to how he might gain the charitable 
inclination of the domestic queens who reigned supreme 
in the culinary realms of Lee's Landing's best homes, 
and who were present in great numbers at the "sprise 
pahty" to MissManda. All of his other tricks of trade 
having become obsolete, he decided to appeal to their 
vanity. And so he stood up and very agreeably sur- 
prised his auditors by ignoring the issues over which 
the factions were at war by reciting in his most comical 
way his latest bit of verse, entitled "A Ballade of a 
Belle," which ran: 



68 



*i| AINT no tantalizin' brown, 

Ise jest es black es I kin be, 
But yet de boys all hangs aroun' 

Somehow dey likes tew visit me. 
Sometimes es high es two an' three, 
Besides ma bestes feller Bill 

Calls roun' at once bekase, yo' see, 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

I caint play notes lak Mandy Brown, 

Ef I should tech an orgin key 
I wouldn't know what note hit soun' 

I doan keer 'bout no harmony; 

Yet all de boys 'bout heah agree 
Dat Ise de only gal kin fill 

De demands ob sassiety; 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

Night time I kin alius be foun' 

A-fixin' fo' ma company; 
All dressed up in ma gingham gown 

I settles down tew pour de tea; 

Ob nice hot chicken frigazee 
Dey all sets down an' eats tew kill. 

An' den we has a jubilee; 
I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

L ' ENVOI, 

Gals, you might hab mo' pedigree 

Dan I has ebber seed, but still 
Sence you jes kin not cook lak me 

I is de Belle ob Ebonville. 

The wily poet, whose recitation was hilariously re- 
ceived, responded to encore after encore until his repor- 
toire was exhausted, but not until such good fellowship 
had been restored that even the Elder beamed with 
kindly pride, as his daughter rose to respond to Aunt 
Dinah, that it had been his good fortune to father such 

69 



a DUSKY DAMSEL. He even nodded approvingly as she 
eloquently declaimed, smiled broadly as she related 
amusing anecdotes and fairly yelled with delight at her 
jokes; but when, in an earnest peroration she suggested 
reforms she intended instituting, among which was a 
kindergarten, a day nursery, a graded school system and 
a woman's club, his facial features became ashen; his 
withered fingers drawn and palsied, and his tottering, 
bedraggled form shook with indignation. 

With every corpuscle of his blood boiling with rage 
he spoke his opinion, saying: t'Sisterin an' Brederin, I 
sho' aint in accord wid what's done been said an' done 
heah dis ebenin. Now den, 'bout dis kindergarden, I 
knows all 'bout dat, an' I 'specks yoh all does too. Hit 
means, hit means " 

"Variety," jokingly suggested Willwrite, who was 
considered, by the Elder, a walking encyclopedia of facts 
and definitions, 

"Dat's jes hit," repeated the Elder, confidently; 
"dat's jes hit" — '"riety," while Manda blushingly hid 
her face in her hands. 

"Dat means," continued the Elder, "dat when yoh 
plants yoh gharden doan plant all cohn, er taters, er 
peas, er pumpkins, but ruther hab a patch ob all de 
'rieties, dat's what kindergarden means, an' we needs 
dat kind ob larnin — agriculchul larnin." 

"An' den," resumed the Elder, "I likes de idea ob 
dis gradin' school, case dough de mos' ob us done larnt 
all 'bout farmth', we doan know nuthin 'bout gradin' 
dese hills an' valleys; so we needs dat knowledge, case 
hits practical, an' hit'U be jes de thing foh dese boys ob 
ourn." 

"Jesde thing," cried the deacons. 

"Den dat day nussery," resumed the Elder, as his 
daughter, abashed at his misconception of her pet theo- 
ries, moved uneasily in her chair, "what my gal done 

70 



spoke 'bout, has long- been needed in dis town, ca'sedese 
g-alls jes caint nuss chilluns lak dey ole mammies, and 
day folks ob dis town'll be glad tew know dat dey kin 
git gals fum dat school wid de proper notions ob nussin', 
but, dat 'Omans Club," yelled the Elder in conclusion, "I 
doanlakhit!" 

"Doan lak hit!" groaned the deacons. 

"I doan lak hit!" thundered the Elder, as he smote 
the table with his fists, knocking parcels and packages 
to the floor, "bekase I has stood tew see de men ob dis 
community beat wid pots; I has seed dem beat wid pans, 
but as de Elder ob Ebonville, I won't stan' tew see no 
'omans club organize tew club de men ob dis commu- 
nity." 

And he did not; neither a scathing castigation by 
Aunt Dinah, earnest solicitation of Manda nor simple 
elucidation of Willwrite, being sufficient to disassociate 
the ephonius term "Woman's Club" from the disastrous, 
appalling apparition of a woman with a cudgel. 



THE END. 



:^'09 



r 

e^ 



